He's handsome. Courageous. Private. And has a middle ground between a realist and optimist. He's Whitmaneque in his poetry, which makes me love him even more, full of passion and romance and grandiose thoughts. As The Atlantic quotes "he's only interested in the big mysteries: God, sex, love, suffering, redemption."

Last night's blood supermoon lunar eclipse. We drove to a graveyard in a cornfield to watch it through binoculars. I will never forget that night.

I ask myself often, what are we supposed to do with all the suffering in this world? Near and far. Close and untouchable. How are we supposed to live? Help? It's easy to get caught up in the analysis, asking why? But it's only ever been an act of beauty that breaks through to me when I can't seem to muster my way out of those dark, dingy, dusty confused corners of my mind. When I get into an overwhelming funk, Art is this glorious world full of hidden answers to the mysteries of my heart's questionings. Sometimes it's in the form of a rare lunar eclipse, or a bouquet of flowers for a friend, or the sound of your sister singing an old hymn from the bathroom, or a painting of Oktoberfest Munich by Dorian Fitzgerald, or the meditative prose of Marilynne Robinson's Gilead or collectively transforming an old decrepit, abandoned house into a Art Exhibit turned Flower Farm (Flower House - a project I'm designing for on Oct. 16-18 in Detroit). The truth is, the world is terrible and wonderful, but as Gilbert cries out, our obligation is to joy - to wonder! It often doesn't solve everything but it's a balm for the soul and Jack Gilbert's "A Brief for the Defense" was a little bit of that for me this week.

A picture of me taken by my sister from our visit to the AGH yesterday.